


A Stormy Day

by StarlingHawke (Bowm8935)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, That's it, it's fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/StarlingHawke
Summary: Prize fic for sketchedflowers on tumblr~A rainy day brings cuddles and a surprise.





	A Stormy Day

The rain is coming down steadily, the sound of it hitting the pavement and a sidewalk filled with umbrellas a familiar cadence on the streets of Seoul. Among the pedestrians walks a lone man, hunched over but without a safeguard against the drops as they pelt against his blonde hair, his pale skin. Moving fast and doing his best to dodge the splash of the puddles as cars drive by, he weaves between the bodies of those headed home - or perhaps out to have fun, since it is a Friday afternoon, after all - just trying to make it to the small apartment before the rest of the storm system moves in.

It’s supposed to be a bad one according to the local weathermen; torrential downpours, high winds, flashing lightning and roaring thunder. Maybe even hail. Getting home in time has been a race against the clock since he left his last class, thankful that it’s the final one of not only the day but of the current semester.

The rain starts to become heavier, stinging as it hits his skin and he folds in on himself even more, hands in the pocket of the borrowed jacket as he moves even faster. Were the streets not so crowded he would run, but alas; he seems to be the only one concerned with the weather. He needs to get home. Not only so that he doesn’t get caught in the storm (because honestly, who wants to be outside when it feels like like the wind will blow you sideways and like the clouds themselves are trying to pound you into the ground?) but also because there’s someone at home who needs him, someone who doesn’t cope very well with sudden, loud noises.

Figures the storm would choose to come on a day that’s supposed to bring happy memories for a change.

The drooping awning of the apartment complex comes into view and he starts to jog, his hair now plastered to his face, all of the carefully styled messiness gone flat and lifeless. Not that he cares at the moment; he’s almost where he needs to be, the place he feels safe and protected. Where he can change out of the wet clothes, take a towel to his hair and settle in on the couch with the one person he’s missed the most all day, arms wrapped around each other as they crank up the TV and watch some cheesy show to try to drown out the thunder.

The door sticks when he grabs the handle, as is usual; a part of him had hoped the rain would’ve somehow seeped down and fixed it, illogical as it may be. Unfortunately, that is not the case, and so he anchors one foot in front of the side he doesn’t want to move, wrapping both hands around the handle and yanking it with all he has. He remembers how he’d gone flying back the first few times after moving in, unused to the amount of force required and thus unprepared for the recoil when it finally unstuck. Now he doesn’t move more than an inch, swinging the door open the rest of the way and stepping into the small entry with a sigh.

The elevator is broken again but he doesn’t even bother glancing to check; it’s out-of-order more often than not, and by now he’s used to the trek up the stairs to the sixth floor. It’s good for him, anyway, as a gamer and student who never bothers to partake in exercise outside of chasing after the bus if he’s late. It’s obvious it’s helped his fitness, too; he’s no longer breathless and panting when he reaches the top stair. As his foot steps on the landing to his floor, he runs a hand through his hair - great, it’s probably sticking up in funny directions now - and treads down the hall to apartment number 611, rented out to one Yoosung Kim and one Saeran Choi.

Turning the key, he steps inside, dropping his soaked bag by the door and inhaling the sweet scent of chocolate cake. Instantly any trepidation involving the night evaporates and he smiles, shrugging off the jacket and hanging it up, kicking off his shoes next. First order of business is to change, so he heads to their shared bedroom and shucks his soaked jeans in favor of a pair of loose-fitting athletic shorts. The shirt is only mildly damp - kept partly dry by the leather jacket - but he still opts to grab a new one. Snagging a towel out of the bathroom on the way by and absently rubbing at his hair, he makes his way to the kitchen and wraps his arms around the man standing facing the counter. “I'm home,” he whispers.

“Yoosung,” Saeran breathes almost desperately, promptly flipping in Yoosung's arms and burying his face in his shoulder. Concern spikes at Saeran's behavior, bringing a frown to Yoosung's face as he tightens his arms around him. “God, I'm so glad you're back.”

“Me too.” Yoosung rests his chin on Saeran's shoulder, gazing at the cake resting on the counter behind them. Saeran rarely makes food outside of frozen pizzas and microwave meals, so the sight of the half-frosted sweet is surprising. Should he be worried, or is it because of…?

Saeran sighs and releases him, stepping back as he cards his (frosting coated) hands through his hair. Yoosung bites his lip and tries not to giggle at the fact that there's now brown smeared among the white locks, but all Saeran has to do is look at his own hands in horror to make his efforts fruitless.

“S-sorry,” Yoosung gasps, hands clapped over his mouth to try to muffle the laughter. “I shouldn't be laughing.”

Saeran shrugs and turns back to the cake, taking the discarded spatula once more and scooping frosting onto the cake. “It's funny,” he admits. “I'm just not in the laughing mood.”

Yoosung struggles to get himself under control as Saeran messily coats the surface of the cake, smoothing it out minimally before picking up the plate and turning around with it. “Thought that since today marked our second year together and the end of classes for you that I'd do something special. I’d say this was baked with love but I had a bad day so it’s baked with chocolate and hatred. Hopefully that's a delicious combo.”

A lovestruck smile grows on Yoosung's face. His eyes drift up from the cake to meet Saeran's own, his heart fluttering with happiness. “It's going to taste wonderful,” he says, reaching out to take it from Saeran. “What about today was so bad, though? Can I do anything to help?”

Saeran grunts, pointing at the cake. “You're looking at it. That's my third attempt and the first one that was edible. How the hell do you make cooking look so easy?” he grumbles, turning around to wash off his hands.

“Years of practice,” Yoosung says honestly, lips twitching in an attempt to smile. Saeran spent all day trying to make this cake, huh… “If someone had told me two years ago that the grumpy hottie sitting a couple of rows in front of me, always late and looking ready to punch someone, would end up spending an entire day in a valiant effort to make us a cake for our anniversary, I probably would've laughed at them,” he muses, placing the cake on the table. “I never thought I'd work up the guts to ask you out, let alone the idea you'd say yes.”

Saeran huffs out a laugh, turning around to face Yoosung and leaning against the counter as he dries his hands. “I was surprised you did. Shaking in your shoes like I was gonna take a swing at you just for talking to me. Too cute for your own damn good. How could I say no?” He sets the towel down and grimaces as he prods at the chocolate in his hair. “Ugh. Will you help me wash this out?"

“Of course,” Yoosung answers without hesitation, reaching out to grab Saeran's hand. “Then we can cuddle on the couch and watch something loud enough the neighbors complain again, right?”

The elusive smile finally appears on Saeran's face. “Yeah,” he agrees, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you... *gasp* hate it? Let me know! I'm always open for reviews, comments and helpful criticism.  
> I'm here to grow. :)
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as [cutiesaeran](http://cutiesaeran.tumblr.com/) or twitter [@MysticHawke](https://twitter.com/MysticHawke/)!


End file.
